


Miles To The Moon

by Claire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fairy Lights, Fucking on a couch, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 19:12:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8765560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/pseuds/Claire
Summary: In which Peter rides Chris on the couch.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Petopher Appreciation Week Day 1: Romance

The main lights are off in the house when Peter walks in, the only illumination being cast by what seems like hundreds of fairy lights draped around the furniture. It's not that Peter needs them, he could make his way through the house in pitch darkness thanks to both werewolf senses and knowing exactly where everything is, but he still smiles when he sees them.

He knows that the more traditional light source would be candles, but Chris wouldn't do that. Because Peter's gotten better with fire, with being able to drown out the sounds of screaming with the sound of Chris' heartbeat, but he still doesn't want fire in the house.

Walking through to the living room, Peter grins as he sees Chris standing there, surrounded by the lights and holding out a glass of whiskey. Closing the distance between them in easy steps, Peter takes the glass, his fingers brushing over Chris' as he does so. The alcohol feels smooth going down, sharp and clear, and Peter's grateful that, even if Chris hates spending money on his wardrobe, that at least he doesn't skimp when it comes to buying the good whiskey.

Reaching out, Chris takes the glass out of Peter's hand, placing it on the table. "Come here," he says.

Peter doesn't hesitate in stepping forward, slotting himself into Chris' body, feeling Chris' arms wrap around him, fingers playing at the waist of his jeans.

"I love you in these jeans," Chris murmurs, lowering his head and swiping his tongue across Peter's neck.

"I know." It's why he wore them today, why his hands went straight to these jeans when he was getting dressed this morning. Because he knows how well they frame his ass, knows that every time he wears them in front of Chris that they're usually on the floor within the hour.

He shivers as Chris' tongue laves at him again. And even if Chris is human, he's more wolf than he cares to admit, knows exactly what hotspots to hit. Peter's wolf is purring inside him, at the feel of his mate marking him. Tilting his head, he gives Chris more access to his neck, knowing that Chris understands the action.

"Strip." The word is a breath against Peter's skin, a dry heat brushing over him.

Stepping back, Peter smirks as he pulls his henley over his head, dropping it to the ground without thought for how much it cost. Reaching out, he hooks his fingers into Chris' belt loops, tugging him forward and manoeuvring him around until Peter can push him onto the sofa. It's a ridiculously expensive, plush thing that Peter insisted on buying because he knew there were times they never made it to the bedroom, never made it past hands down each other's jeans and pulling off clothes because the need to get skin against skin was the most important thing.

There's no music, but Peter starts swinging his hips anyway, slowly trailing his fingers down over his chest until he reaches his jeans, popping open the buttons one by one. He toes off his boots and socks, nudging them to the side with a foot, before he starts edging his jeans down.

Chris raises an eyebrow as Peter pushes the denim over his hips. "No underwear, Peter?"

"I figured today meant you were a sure thing." He turns around as he pushes his jeans over his ass.

The scent of arousal in the air spikes and Peter doesn't bother to stop the grin from crossing his face. The notes in the air sink into his senses, each of them screaming out _Chris_. He knows these scents, has them ingrained into him. Has known them ever since that very first time when a teenage werewolf let a young hunter lay him out on a motel bed.

The sound of a zipper being pulled down reaches him, and the rustling of fabric that accompanies it tells him that Chris is pulling his hard cock out of his jeans.

The scent in the air changes, becomes sharper, more precise, as Chris slicks precome over his cock, the soft sound of Chris slowly jerking himself reaching Peter.

Turning back to face Chris, Peter pushes his jeans the rest of the way down, stepping out of them as he takes the single step towards the sofa.

Chris has already got lube in the hand that's not wrapped around his dick.

"Really, Christopher?"

Chris just smiles. "I figured I wasn't going to be the only sure thing today, Peter."

Peter laughs as he straddles Chris, his hands on Chris' shoulders as he leans down to capture Chris' lips. He nips at Chris' lower lip, and he knows his teeth are too sharp to be entirely human right now as the slight bloom of iron bursts over his tongue. He laps at the cut on Chris' lip that he's left before pulling back.

There's the snap of a cap as Chris flicks the lube open, and Peter shifts forward slightly, as Chris reaches behind him, his fingers going unerringly to Peter's ass. Chris' fingers slip inside Peter's body, and Peter doesn't hold back the moan. Because he loves feeling Chris inside him in any way he can get him.

"That's it--" Chris' voice is low as he slowly fucks his fingers in and out of Peter's body.

Peter can feel his body relaxing around Chris' fingers, readying itself for what's about to come. "I'm ready," he says, because he likes that burn when Chris first pushes into him, the moment where he doesn't think that it's going to happen, and then he shifts and Chris shifts and Chris is sliding into him like he belongs in Peter's body.

Chris' fingers thrust into him a few more times before pulling out. "Get me ready," he says, holding out the lube to Peter.

Taking the tube, Peter squeezes some out and wraps his fingers around Chris' cock, slicking him up.

Reaching behind himself, Peter holds Chris steady as he starts to lower himself. Chris' cockhead is hot and insistent as it presses against Peter's hole.

"Come on, baby, let me in."

Peter bites at his bottom lip as Chris' cock slips into him, feeling himself open around the dick starting to cleave into him. And it's perfect as he slowly sinks down, the thick warmth of Chris moving further into him until, finally, Peter is against Chris' lap, the roughness of the denim against his skin.

Chris' hands cup his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks. "You feel so good. Fuck, Peter, you always feel so amazing around me."

Peter doesn't answer as he starts to move, rolling his hips as he fucks himself on Chris' cock.

Peter's hands dig into Chris' shoulders as he moves. He can feel his claws lengthening, can smell the tang of blood in the air from where they're piercing through Chris' shirt and into his skin. But Chris doesn't flinch, doesn't shrug Peter's grip off. Doesn't do anything apart from hitch his hips slightly, fucking into Peter as much as he can with a grown wolf's weight resting on him.

His hands moving from Peter's face, Chris trails his fingers downwards, reaching around Peter to grip at his ass as Peter moves. There's the brush of a touch across where his body is stretched around Chris' cock, a soft phantom that slowly becomes more as Chris rubs at Peter's hole.

"Fuck, Peter. Love the way you're stretched around me." Chris' voice is low, rough, and Peter can hear the effort he's making, can hear the way he's just as affected by this as Peter.

And Peter never thought they'd have this. Between their families and their histories and everything that says a hunter and wolf should never be able to make it together. But they did. They took everything the world threw at them and they made it. Through blood and fire and a father and an alpha that tried their damnedest to keep them apart. And, yes, it took them some time, but they got here.

"Please--" And part of Peter doesn't even know what he's asking for, but he doesn't need to. Because it's Chris, because Chris always knows.

A hand wraps itself around the back of Peter's neck, cupping him gently. And it's where his mating mark should be, the healed imprint of teeth from the only one he'd ever submit to. But Chris isn't a wolf, and human teeth were never going to mark Peter, not permanently. So they did it another way. And Chris' fingers slowly move over where the fleur-de-lys tattoo sits on Peter's neck. (He'd closed his eyes and gritted his teeth when the fire had brushed the back of his neck, burning the ink into his skin for all to see. Because he'd sworn never to go near fire again, but it was Chris and it was Peter's choice. Because Chris will _always_ be Peter's choice.)

Chris keeps his hand on Peter's neck as his other moves to Peter's cock. Peter can't stop the whine from rising in his throat as Chris' fingers wrap around him, start to jerk him in a steady tempo, matching the speed he's fucking himself on Chris' cock. And as much as he wants to hold himself back, he can't. Because Chris is hard-wired into every part of Peter. From the moment Peter accepted Chris as his mate, his wolf was too finely attuned to the other man to ever be able to ignore his touch.

"I can't believe you're really mine."

And the words are low, but Peter hears them. Opening his eyes from where they've drifted closed, Peter meets Chris' gaze, meets wide blue taking in every inch of Peter's reactions.

Chris' thumb rubs over Peter's cockhead, slicking precome over his cock as he jerks it. "Come on, Peter. Want you to come for me, want to feel you come around me."

And even though it's not a command, Peter is helpless to resist. The pleasure that has been building inside him, hot and sharp and there, edges through him as Chris twists his hand in a way that has Peter coming. Peter shudders on Chris' lap, splattering white over Chris' shirt, drops of Peter that sink into the fabric, staining Chris' clothes with everything that Peter is.

Peter drops his head to Chris' shoulder, resting his forehead on the back of his own hand. Heavy breaths run through him as he shakes through the aftershocks of his orgasm as Chris continues to stroke him, his sensitive cock twitching with each pass of Chris' fingers.

Chris' hips are hunching up, once, twice, before Chris groans and Peter feels his cock pulsing within him, emptying Chris out into his body, filling him up with all Chris is. Chris' fingers have tightened on Peter's neck, and Peter can feel the bruises blooming under them, marking Chris' name across his skin in a way that will vanish in seconds. (Although not the tattoo, never the tattoo. That signs Chris' role in Peter's life, his importance. And its permanence is as immutable as Peter's feelings for the man he's straddling.)

There's the soft sound of Chris' head falling back against the couch, and Peter lifts his own to look at him, at the fine lines around his eyes and the face that shows so much for those who only care to look. (And Peter cares. Oh, he cares.)

Lifting a hand, Chris wraps his fingers around Peter's wrist for a moment, before trailing his fingers up to link with Peter's, the quiet metallic clink of the bands around their fingers brushing together to break the silence.

"Happy anniversary, Peter," Chris says, his voice low and full every promise he made to Peter as they stood together a year ago, in front of friends and family and pack.

"Happy anniversary, Chris," Peter replies, before leaning down and capturing his mate's, his husband's, lips in a kiss. And the lights continue to shine around them.


End file.
